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The man’s bluster disappeared instantly. Bert could tell by the change in his voice, which was incredibly great, as he pleaded:

“Oh, don’t do that, Maud; I didn’t mean to say that; I was mad–I’m sorry.”

“I’m glad you did it now, so I can know you. Take your ring, Ed; I never ‘ll wear it again.”

Albert had heard all this, but he did not know how the girl looked as she faced the man. In the silence which followed she scornfully passed him and went out into the kitchen. Brann went out and did not return at supper.

Young people of this sort are not self-analysts, and Maud did not examine closely into causes. She was astonished to find herself more indignant than grieved. She broke into an angry wail as she went to her mother’s bosom:

“Mother! mother!”

“Why, what’s the matter, Maudie? Tell me. There, there! don’t cry, pet! Who’s been hurtin’ my poor little bird?”

“Ed has; he said–he said–“

“There, there! poor child! Have you been quarrelling again? Never mind; it’ll come out all right.”

“No, it won’t–not the way you mean,” the girl declared. “I’ve given him back his ring, and I’ll never wear it again.”

The mother could not understand with what wounding brutality the man’s tone had fallen upon the girl’s spirit, and Maud could not explain sufficiently to justify herself. Mrs. Welsh consoled herself with the idea that it was only a lover’s quarrel–one of the little jars sure to come when two natures are settling together–and that all would be mended in a day or two.

Albert, being no more of a self-analyst than Maud, simply said, “Served him right,” and dwelt no more upon it for the time.

At supper, however, he was extravagantly gay, and to himself unaccountably so. He joked Troutt till Maud begged him to stop, and after the rest had gone he remained seated at the table, enjoying the indignant color in her face and the flash of her infrequent smile, which it was such a pleasure to provoke. He volunteered to help wash the dishes.

“Thank you, but I’m afraid you’d be more bother than help,” she replied.

“Thank you, but you don’t know me. I ain’t so green as I look by no manner o’ means. I’ve been doing my own housekeeping for four terms.”

“I know all about that,” laughed the girl. “You young men rooming do precious little cooking and no dish-washing at all.”

“That’s a base calumny! I made it a point to wash every dish in the house, except the spider, once a week; had a regular cleaning-up day.”

“And about the spider?”

“I wiped that out nicely with a newspaper every time I wanted to use it.”

“Oh, horrors!–Mother, listen to that!”

“Why, what more could you ask? You wouldn’t have me wipe it six times a day, would you?”

“I wonder it didn’t poison you,” commented Mrs. Welsh.

“Takes more’n that to poison a student,” laughed Albert, as he went out.

The next afternoon he came bursting into the kitchen, where Maud stood with her sleeves rolled up, deep in the dishpan.

“Don’t you want a sleigh-ride?” he asked, boyishly eager.

She looked up with shining eyes.

“Oh, wouldn’t I! Can you get along, mother?”

“Certainly, child. Go on. The air will do you good.”

“W’y, Maud!” said the little girl, “you said you didn’t want to when Ed–“

Mrs. Welsh silenced her, and said:

“Run right along, dear; it’s just the nicest time o’ day. Are there many teams out?”

“They’re just beginning to come out,” said Albert. “I’ll have a cutter around here in about two jiffies; be on hand, sure.”

Troutt was standing in the sunny doorway of his stable when the young fellow dashed up to him.

“Hullo, Uncle Troutt! Harness your fastest nag into your swellest outfit instanter.”

“Aha! Goin’ t’ take y’r girl out, hey?”

“Yes; and I want to do it in style.”

“I guess ol’ Dan’s the horse for you. Gentle as a kitten and as knowin’ as a fox. Drive him with one hand–left hand.” The old man laughed till his long, faded beard flapped up and down and quivered with the stress of his enjoyment of his joke. He ended by hitching a vicious-looking sorrel to a gay, duck-bellied cutter, saying, as he gave up the reins: